Scars That Don't Heal
by DeathsLights
Summary: Everyone has scars. They just can't always be seen. (14 short character studies)
1. Chapter 1

**This is more of a writing exercise for me, to stretch these muscles but I'm still going enjoy it, a lot. XD**

**My usual beta is Kittiekatt has been given a monster of a project and so my best friend Dances-like-flames is filling, she's the one that gave me the cool little summary and title because I suck at titles : ) so everyone welcome her! Thank you! :D**

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**Scars That Don't Heal**

**Chapter 1: Stiles**

It's been coming. This isn't sudden at all, it hadn't snuck up, it hadn't _just_ happened, this was inevitable. But he still hoped for a miracle, that some God out there would take pity on them. That it wouldn't happen to them–they were happy, why them? Why did it have to them?

He'd hoped so much.

She'd been so strong. she'd smiled every day, would hug him with hands bruised with IV drips, would laugh the way she always did. Even when she gotten worse, when she'd stopped remembering him, his dad, she still smiled–there were still moments where she would remember them, would hug and kiss him and hold him tight like she always did and he hoped. He hoped so strongly.

If she was so strong why wasn't her body? Why couldn't anyone help her? Why did it have to _her_?

Why did she have to scream at night so fearfully? Screams that haunted his nightmares. Why did she have to look so scared sometimes? Why were nights when she couldn't sleep at all? Why were they're times she couldn't breathe?

She'd remembered–she'd remembered his name and he'd been so happy because it meant she's was her, she was his _mom_ and then everything stopped. There was a blur of nurses and doctors, hands grabbing him and pulling him away, when he'd looked up it was his dad and he'd never seen him look like that before–like the world had ended.

He doesn't remember anything after that but now he's in front of a casket and nothing feels real. All he sees is a wooden box engraved things his mom may have liked but he doesn't know for sure anymore, he can't remember and that lodges something in his throat that no matter how much he tries to, he can't swallow it down. His father's hands are gripping his shoulders, weighing down strong and steady, another hand, smaller and childish is curled around his, trembling a little, just like his owner. His father's hands and Scott's are the only thing keeping him tied down, he's sure if they let go he'd float away, past the clouds, up above away from this, away from all of this, maybe to mom.

And then they're home and he doesn't understand why does time keep fading? Is this what life's going to be like without–

His heart thudded loudly in his ears. She's gone. His body is shaking and he can't breathe. _His mom is dead_. Oh god his mom is–

Suddenly there are hands gripping him shaking him and he hasn't even realized he's started crying or that his mouth his moving, that he's saying something, but all he see is his dad's face fall and then he sees nothing because his dad is burying him into his chest, shielding him from the world and he's crying harder and he knows what he's saying now, why his dad looking at him like that. "She's gone."

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**So who is next? From the remaining 13?**


	2. Chapter 2

**So I'm doing two a day because they are short. Extremely short. Anyway this is really just to pass the time until another project of mine has been edited so look forward to that one because it's long one, one of those complete 20,000+ word stories...it was a point I wanted to prove myself that I could do it and yes I did it...whether it'll be a good thing is another story. *Nervously swallows***

**Anyway thanks to my guest beta Dances-like-flames who liked Isaac's and Jackson's chapters a lot and to think she calls me twisted, well I did write it...**

***Coughs* Moving on, I wonder which you guys will like?**

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**Scars That Don't Heal**

**Chapter 2: Danny**

He stumbles. His footsteps are unsteady and it hurts, his chest hurts, the IV drip stings as he moves and the needle tugs underneath his skin. As he reaches the bathroom, his hand blindly searches the wall until he finds the light switch. But he still can't see anything. There is no light, only darkness behind his eye lids. He's not ready, he doesn't want to see it, but he _has_ to, he has to see it or he's never going to do it. Danny slowly opens his eyes and he has to blink a few times. When the spots that dance in front of his vision disappear, he finally sees himself.

The reflection doesn't look like him at all. All he sees is a scared kid that's trying hard not to cry. He doesn't want to look like that, but he's scared, so scared, but he has to do this. He slowly shrugs off the gown, wincing as the movement hinders and pulls. His eyes drift down to his chest, a little to the left and he finally sees it. Finally sees what he's known has been there since he woke up in pain and groggy from the medication.

His skin is pink and swollen. His fingers touch the healing flesh and he flinches as pain flares up. His fingers hover over the skin. It's ragged and uneven. The stitches, black and protruding, are foreign on his skin. They look out of place, as if they don't belong on him, but it's what's underneath them that is more startling. Underneath the muscle, past his rib cage, inside of him is a metal rod and that's the only thing stopping his chest from collapsing, the only thing that's keeping him alive and it's going to stay there, inside of him for two years. Then after that, the stitches will leave a scar that'll never go away, that is going to stay with him forever. But it means that he'd made it, that he's a _survivor_. That after everything the doctors had told him, that he'd never have a normal life, that wouldn't be able to play like other kids, wouldn't _be_ like other kids, he'd prove them wrong. The scar that's going to form will be proof of that. Danny scrubbed his eyes and smiled. Although it's flawed and broken, he's going to make it. As he stares at his reflection tears slip out. It's okay, it's okay, he's going to prove everyone wrong. He's going to be okay. He's going to be like other kids, he's going to live his life like everyone else. He's going to be okay. _He's a survivor_.

His reflection cries.

_He's okay, so why is it doing that? _


	3. Chapter 3

**Oh this is going to hurt.**

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**Scars That Don't Heal**

**Chapter 3: Isaac**

It's dark and all he can see are shadows that threaten to grab him and drag him away, but maybe that would be better. There are times that he wants the shadows to take him, take him away from here, away from _him_. He flinches as the floorboards creak. Fear is starting to creep up into him, and he curls up tighter and pushes himself further under the bed until his back touches the wall. There are tremors working their way up his body, he has to cover his mouth with his hand to stop from whimpering, but he isn't sure he'd be able to hear anything over the pounding of his heart. Why isn't his brother here? Why isn't he protecting him? Where is he? He wants his brother, he's scared, and he wants his brother. Where are you? You promised. You promised you'd be here for me, _you promised_.

The door slams open and he's shaking harder. No. Please. No. The shadows are growing; he can see his dad's boots. He has to grip his mouth harder to make sure nothing comes out. Please don't see me. Please don't see me. He wants to throw up. _He wants his brother_.

After minutes pass, the feet disappear and he closes his eyes. He's okay today, nothing's going to ha–suddenly hands are grabbing his ankle and he screams, but there is no one there to witness his screams, screams that haunt the walls, haunt the empty rooms, screams that ring with fear and terror; there never is. He tries to scramble away, tries to dig his nails into the floorboards to get away. "No! I'm sorry! Please don't do this. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't do this. I'm sorry." He's crying, he can't breathe. "I'm sorry!" His dad is dragging him down the stairs and he tries to grab the railing but he's not strong enough to get away, he's thrashing with everything he's got to get away. He tries to claw at the hands that are tight around his body, tight enough to leave more bruises on him_. But it's never enough_.

Another door opens and his heart is threatening to leap out of his chest. "I'm sorry! Don't put me in there! I'm sorry!" He fights harder like he has every time, bites and scratches but it doesn't work. It never does. He's dragged down another set of stairs. Further into the darkness and he's crying hard enough that his sobs are just dry heaves now because what's next is so much worse. He'd rather be hit; he'd rather be hit so hard that he's not awake. Anything but what's going to come next. Soon the hands are lifting him up and he's being shoved into the freezer. His dad's looking down at him but he doesn't recognize him, he doesn't recognize who this person is. This person is cold and hurts him, makes him bleed and gives him bruises. He doesn't know who this man is. But he still begs and pleads. "P–Please, don't." He's shaking and trying to reach out to him but the man just stares at him and there is nothing in those eyes. All he can see is himself and he's broken and bruised, his cheeks are wet and he's scared. So scared. Soon the door is closing and there is no light. Isaac can't breathe, he digs his fingernails into the ceiling and tries to get out, as he's screaming and crying. His fingers are bleeding and he's leaving red streaks everywhere that join the old ones, he kicks and screams harder. "Let me out! I'm sorry! Let me out! I'm sorry! Please. Someone save me!" It's getting smaller, the space is getting smaller, and he digs his nails in harder. He's going to die. He's going to die. It's getting harder to breathe. "Help me! Someone help me! I'm sorry!" He can't see, his vision is edging with darkness, is he going blind? He weakly pounds against the ceiling, but his hands hurt, his chest is being pushed down and he doesn't have anything left, doesn't have the strength, the will to do anymore, he can't fight anymore. His hands slip wet with his blood and his eyes start close and darkness is there to cradle him again.

_Why won't_ _someone, anyone, save him?_


	4. Chapter 4

**I guess what I'm doing is points at which I think their lives changed or where their wounds are the strongest, or perhaps the most heartbreaking thing I can make. *Shrugs* Writing is an outlet...at least it's a healthy way to let out emotions.**

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**Scars That Don't Heal**

**Chapter 4: Boyd**

He doesn't understand why these people are asking him these questions. He doesn't know. He doesn't know.

"Where is your sister?"

I don't know.

"Was she taken by someone?"

I don't know.

"But she was with you."

She was.

"So where is she?"

I don't know.

"How can you not know? You were there."

He was and she had been skating next to him. She was so good at it, like a dancer, she liked to do tricks to make him smile. Would spin really fast or jump high in the air, she was really good. After her tricks she'd turn to him and smile with missing teeth and dimples and he had to smile with her because there was no way he couldn't. She'd been next him but he doesn't understand. She was _there_ and then she wasn't. Where is she? Why do they keep asking him these questions? Where is she? Where is she? _Where is his sister_?

The men are scary. He curls up in his chair and drops his head into his knees. His heart is loud; can the men hear it? Can everyone hear it? There are whispers now but he hears one word and his stomach swims and his heart beats louder. _Missing_. Who's missing? Is it her? She's not missing, she's at the ice rink waiting from him, so why won't these men let him go and get her? She might be under the ice, waiting for him. Why won't these men let him go to her?

"Where is she?"

I don't know.

"Did someone take her?"

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know–he's crying, he doesn't know where she is. He doesn't know where she is, he doesn't know where his sister is. _She's gone_.

"Did you see someone take her?"

He doesn't know where his sister is. Is it his fault? Is it his fault she's gone, because he wasn't watching her properly? _Is it his fault_?

"Did someone take her?"

He covers his ears but he still hears them. He doesn't know. Why won't these men stop asking him? He doesn't know. Please stop talking, stop the voices, someone please stop the voices.

_He doesn't know._


	5. Chapter 5

**Scars That Don't Heal**

**Chapter 5: Erica**

She hates the needles that poke into her, the gown she has to wear, hates the tests they do, she hates the looks they give her. She's not something fragile, she's not _weak_. She hates the room, hates the ceiling, she hates this place, hates it so much. Why does she have to be here? Why do they keep bringing her back when she doesn't want to come back? She wants to play with other kids. She wants to go outside, wants to play in the rain, in the Preserve just like everyone else, so why can't she? Why does she have to take medicine that makes her throat burn? Why do they have to keep giving her shots that make her bleed? Her arms are full of little tiny holes that hurt when she presses down on them, she has so many that she can't count them all. The IV drip is itchy and she wants to take it off but she can't, they won't let her. She wants to go home.

Why does her mom keep saying she can't do this or that? That she's not like other kids? She's like everyone else, isn't she?

She's not weak. She's not! So why won't her body listen? Why won't it let her run, jump, skip rope, and climb trees like everyone else?

Is there something wrong with her? She wants to be better. She wants to be like everyone, so why won't anyone help her?

Frustrated, tears threaten to overflow. Her body is shaking. She fists her gown tightly because she's not going to cry. _She's not_. Not anymore. Never again. She's not going to show anyone her tears, she's going to be stronger, she's going to be like everyone else, she's going to do what they do, she's not going to sit inside, she's not going watch the other kids play anymore, she's going to do everything they do. She's going to have fun. She's going to laugh so loudly that it reaches the sky. She's going to smile so brightly that everyone will smile with her. She's going to have friends, she's going to run through the Preserve and climb the highest trees. She's going to better than everyone.

The tears overflow, staining her gray gown, and she bites down on her lip.

She's wants to be healthy. She wants to not worry about the next time she has an attack. She wants to feel the sun, the rain, and the wind on her skin. She just wants to be healthy. That's all she wants, that's all she's ever wanted. More tears fall and she bites down on her lip harder.

_She just wants to be healthy_. _Someone one heal me, make me better. Someone heal me. Please._


	6. Chapter 6

**I still have to write today's two. I'll get to them eventually, when the mood strikes. Thanks Dances-like-flames for editing all these yesterday. : ) Thanks!**

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**Scars That Don't Heal**

**Chapter 6: Jackson**

The words just sit there, but it's like they aren't on the page, like they're just floating. He can see them in front of him but they aren't clicking, they aren't making sense. The words are in English but they might as well be in another language. He wishes they were so he wouldn't be able to read them. His vision is starting to blur and the words are harder to understand. The paper is shaking, it's making it worse– no it's his hands that are shaking. The words sharpen and that's all he can see now, the only thing his eyes focus on, just these fragments.

_**Adoption. **_

_**Father: Gordon Miller (Deceased).**_

_**Mother: Margaret Miller (Deceased).**_

_**Jackson.**_

He throws the paper away from himself and rubs his hands against his pants. _This isn't real. It's not real, it's not real. It can't be_.

His eyes drift back to the paper this isn't real. _It's not real_.

It has to be a lie. It's not true, but why would the paper be here? Be in his house? _In his dad's study_?

No.

He shakes his head, this can't be real, it's a joke. It has to be.

He's Jackson Whittemore. Not Jackson Miller. He's Jackson Whittemore. He's Jackson Whittemore, not whoever's last name is on that paper. He's not a Miller, he's a Whittemore like his mom and dad..._right_? He's not anyone else, he's not. He's Jackson Whittemore.

His life is crashing down in front of him, everything is crashing around him. His ears are burning. Why? Why lie to him? Why keep this from him? Is everything a lie? He needs to leave, and he can't get enough air. He needs to leave. He stumbles out of the room and runs upstairs, straight into his bathroom. His hands keep slipping, and he can't turn on the tap. After a few tries they move and quickly he douses his face with water that chills his skin. He looks up at the mirror and he sees his face but it's doesn't look like him anymore. It's distorted, he can't recognize himself anymore. His reflection isn't _his_ anymore. _Who is that? _It belongs to an unknown person. He can't recognize himself.

_Who am I?_


End file.
